There was something in her eyes Nailer hadn’t seen before. It filled him with a tingling hunger. He realized that at this moment, if he was bold…

He leaned forward. Their lips touched. For the briefest moment, she leaned in to him, let her lips press more strongly against his. Then she drew back, flustered, and looked away. Nailer’s heart beat wildly. He could hear his blood in his ears, thudding excitement. He tried to think of something to say, something smart, something to make her look at him again, to renew the connection he’d felt just a moment before. But the words didn’t come.

Nita pointed. “Tool’s coming,” she said thickly. “Maybe he’ll know something about the ship.”

Nailer turned and caught sight of Tool in the crowd, headed in their direction. He felt a confused rush of relief and frustration at the interruption. And then something else caught his eye: across the crowds, two half-men hurrying to intercept Tool.

“It’s them,” Nailer said. “Those were the ones with my dad.”

Nita sucked in her breath. “They see Tool.”

“We have to warn him.” Nailer tried to get up, but Nita grabbed him and yanked him down.

“You can’t help him,” she whispered fiercely.

He tried to shout to Tool, but she pressed her hand over his mouth. “No!” she whispered. “You can’t! We’ll all be caught then!”

Nailer looked into her fierce, solemn eyes and nodded slowly. As soon as she took her hand away, he sprang up and gave her a withering look. “You’re a cold one, aren’t you? Hide if you want. He’s our crew.”

Before she could stop him again, he was off and running, jumping through the vines and out onto the boardwalk. Tool saw him running and waving. “Look out!” Nailer shouted.

Tool turned and saw his hunters converging. Snarls echoed in the night and then the half-men were all moving. Fast. Blurringly fast. Faster than any natural human could ever move. Machetes appeared in the dog-men’s hands. They dove for Tool, snarling. One of them flew back, thrown by Tool’s strength, but the other swung his machete. Blood sprayed the air, an arc of black liquid gleaming in lantern glow. Nailer cast about for a weapon, something he could throw, a club, anything-

Nita grabbed him and dragged him back. “Nailer! You can’t help him!” she said. “We have to run before they see us!”

Nailer looked back desperately, fighting her pull. “But-”

Crowds roiled where the half-men snarled and battled. Nailer heard wood beams cracking. The crowd obscured what was happening, but suddenly the rotten frontage of a building gave way and collapsed. Dust boiled up into the air. People screamed and stampeded from the wreckage. Nita yanked his arm. “Come on! This isn’t a fight you can survive! They’re too fast and too strong! You’ve never seen half-men fight. You can’t help him!”

Nailer stared at where Tool had disappeared in dust and wreckage. More snarling rose, and then a scream, high and animal.

Hating himself, Nailer turned and ran, ducking and dodging with the crowd.

They huddled near the water’s edge, watching the lights out in the deeps, watching for more of Pyce’s creatures. People walked by, ignoring the two urchins on the shore, just another pair of the many that came and went like the junk in the tides.

“I’m sorry,” Nita said. “I didn’t want to leave him, either.”

Nailer gave her a withering look. “He was helping us.”

“There are some fights you can’t win.” She looked away. “Half-men don’t fight like people. More like hurricanes. We would have been killed or caught, or just made it harder for Tool to fight on his own.”

“And now he’s dead.”

She was silent, lips pressed together, staring out at the blackness and the reflections of torches and LED beacons on the waters. Oars rattled in oarlocks and the distant buzz of a pilot boat wafted across the water to them.

Finally, Nita said, “We have to try to get to the Dauntless. It’s the only way.”

Nailer didn’t want to agree, but he didn’t see any better option. Without Tool to give them protection in this city, they were minnows waiting to be eaten. They couldn’t even keep their squat if he wasn’t around to provide muscle. But the sudden arrival of the ship along with his father and the half-men filled him with unease. They were too closely linked. The ship had come and his father had appeared like a wraith on the boardwalks and it was only dumb luck that allowed Nailer to avoid the man.

And now the Dauntless sat out there in the waves, beckoning like bait on a line.

Throughout the Orleans, Lucky Girl’s enemies would be searching harder now, sure that they were on the scent. The finding of Tool would bring more people down, waves of searchers. It would inspire his father for certain. Surviving in the drowned streets of the Orleans would be impossible. They couldn’t work in the open, couldn’t let their faces be shown without drawing attention.

Nita said, “We’re going to that ship out there, and Captain Sung will help us get to my father.”

Nailer shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

“Yours too.”

Nailer stared at the distant docks and the bustle of nighttime Orleans. The dead city, still half alive, like a zombie corpse reanimated, because people needed the trade, and the mouth of the Mississippi still poured down through the center of the continent with its great barges full of food and whatever manufactured objects came from the northern cities. All sorts of places upriver, probably, lots of places to hide. All sorts. And them just a couple bits of driftwood. They could float…

“We could go up the river,” he suggested.

“Not until I know about the Dauntless.” Nita stabbed her finger toward the distant shape of the ship. “That’s where I’m going. With or without you.”

Nailer searched the crowds, then sighed. “Fine. But I’ll do it by myself.” He held up a hand, forestalling protest. “If your captain’s there, I’ll find her. If I find her, then we bring you out.”

“But they don’t know you.”

“You’re the one everyone wants. They’re not hunting for me, except to get to you. There’s a chance I can at least look things over. But you’ll be recognized in a second. These aren’t my people, they’re yours.”

“What about your dad?”

Nailer made a sound of exasperation. “If you’re worried he’s on the boat, then why go out there at all? Since you won’t listen to me and stay away, I’ll go take a look. I know how to sneak up on them, and it’s a hell of a lot easier if I go alone.” He grimaced. “Stay out of sight. I’ll meet you at the squat and let you know.”

Without waiting for a response, he jogged down the planking and waded into the black water. He made his way out toward the floating docks, swimming slow and off the main marked path through the water. At least this way he could approach unnoticed.

Cool water lapped around him, the darkness almost total. He kept swimming, making his way toward the beautiful ship. He had dreamed about ships like this, about being on their decks, about sailing on them, and now he was on the verge of sneaking aboard one.

When he thought about it, the only thing that had ever seemed truly beautiful to him were these ships with their carbon-fiber hulls and fast sails and hydrofoils that cut the ocean like knives as they crossed the great oceans or made their way over the pole. He wondered how cold it was in the North. He had seen photos of ships rimed with ice as they went through the polar night on their way to the far side of the world. The distances were immense and yet they sailed so fast and so sleek, undeterred.

It took fifteen minutes of swimming and his arms ached by the time he reached the Dauntless. He slipped beneath the docks, bobbing in the salt water, and listened. Conversation: men and women joking, talking about shore leave. Another complaining about resupply rates and local con men. He listened as he bobbed in the depths.